


Masquerade

by phoenixflight



Category: Historical RPF
Genre: 1900s, Aristocracy, Comedy, Crossdressing, Dancing, Drama, M/M, Masks, Pre-Revolution Russia, Russian History, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-14
Updated: 2012-07-14
Packaged: 2017-11-10 09:06:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/464579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixflight/pseuds/phoenixflight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Someone might recognize you."<br/>"Maybe, if they've heard me sing."<br/>My brother made a noise of frustration. "I don't mean recognize you as the French girl who sings at L'Aquarius, I mean recognize you as <i>Count Yusupov's youngest son!</i>"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Masquerade

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a true story, believe it or not.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” my brother began. 

“It’s an excellent idea,” I told him. “Come here and give me hand. I need you to do the buttons.” 

He helped hold the heavy gown as I stepped into it, and then pulled it up onto my shoulders. I turned around so that he could start fastening the sixty ivory buttons up the back. “Real ladies have servants for this, you know.” 

“You were the one who wanted a beautiful woman to accompany to the ball,” I reminded him. “Come over to the mirror and you can button while I put on makeup.”

“Someone is going to recognize you,” he insisted. 

I would have rolled my eyes if I hadn’t been carefully lining them in kohl. “It’s a masked ball. Don’t worry, Nicky. Can you pass me the necklace on the table? The one with the pearls?”

“There are going to be people there who know you.” 

I shrugged. “Sure, if they’ve seen me sing.” 

“I don’t mean they know you as the French girl singing at L’Aquarius,” Nicholas said irritably, finishing my buttons and stepping away. “I mean people who know you _as Count Yusupov’s youngest son_.” 

“Oh, that.” I grinned. “But that’s half the fun.” 

He smacked my bare shoulder – necklines this season were wide, but thankfully not low. With the front of my gown tastefully padded, and my already narrow waist sinched tight with a corset, I passed easily as a woman. “Alright. Fine. But on your head be it, if we get caught.” 

I just hummed in response, concentrating on the mirror. “What do you think? Do you think lip color is a bit much?” I turned to him, posing. 

It was Nicky’s turn to roll his eyes. “I think you look ridiculous with your short hair,” he chuckled. “Put your wig on.” 

“You don’t appreciate innovation in fashion,” I huffed, flouncing over to the trunk and lifting out a hatbox. It was impossible to flounce in trousers, and I took advantage of skirts to flounce whenever I could. It was such fun. 

“I appreciate luxurious curls on my women, is what I appreciate.” 

“You should be grateful,” I told him, adjusting the wig – black, to highlight my pale features – and pinning it in place. “If I was a real lady, I would have to spend an hour or more with my hair to get it to look like this.” The wig, happily, was already coifed up smoothly, and adorned with a loop of pearls, to match the necklace. “There. Grab my gloves, and I’m ready to go.” 

“Finally.” 

“Were you listening at all to what I just said?” I asked. “Never mind, just get the door.” 

At the door, he opened it a crack and leaned out, glancing quickly in each direction, before motioning to me. “Come on.” 

We slipped out into the creaking nighttime corridor, footsteps muffled on the thick carpet. Hurrying in the light of one dimmed gaslamp we reached the servant’s stair and clattered down, rustling and thumping in the dark, doing our best to wake no one, until we burst out into the frigid air. 

Our breath furled white before us, and I shivered, drawing Mother’s sable cloak around me as we trudged through the snow; it had been appropriated for this evening’s excursion, and we would return it in the small hours of the morning, no one the wiser. 

It was not yet late enough for the main streets to be deserted, but the figures moved fast, huddled in on themselves and bundled tight against the fierce Russian wind – with our evening dress covered, Nicky and I were just another couple. There were still a few carriages about too, and my brother hailed one to take us to Lord Alexandrovich’s mansion. 

When we arrived, the windows were glowing brilliantly, casting yellow beams through the swirling snow. Nicholas handed me down from the carriage – always the perfect gentleman when I was in disguise – and escorted me up the steps. 

A doorman took our coats and ushered us into the ballroom – it was warm and crowded, dapper men weaving amongst the peacock women, all sequins, glass beads, bright gems, and shining thread. Eyes were dark and glittering behind elaborate masks. I grinned. 

“Remember,” Nicky whispered, leaning down to speak in my ear, “No close dancing, no kissing, don’t leave the room with anyone and for God’s sake, keep your mask on.” 

“I’ll be fine,” I groaned to him. “Go find a real girl to dance with. I’ll meet you back here by midnight.” 

He eyed me suspiciously for a moment, before squeezing my hand, and allowing the drift of the crowd to separate us. I wandered aimlessly, until someone in a tiger mask asked me to dance. “Gladly,” I told him, though he was somewhat shorter than I, and allowed him to lead me out onto the floor. 

Dancing as a woman was such fun, no thinking to do, just following my partner’s body, reveling in the heavy swish and swing of skirts around my legs. I danced a set with the short tiger man, then with a jester, broad and somewhat stout, then with a fierce bird who waltzed so quickly it left me panting and sweating at the back of my neck, and then a demon who told silly jokes in my ear and made me laugh until I couldn’t dance at all. 

Taking a break, a leaned against a wall with a glass of champagne, and sipped it slowly, catching my breath and resting my aching feet, until someone beside me said, “You look familiar.” Turning round with a start, I found myself facing a tall man, eyes covered with a lion’s mask like half a sunburst. It’s tawny paint matched his sandy hair, and he had a charmingly crooked smile that was indeed disturbingly familiar. “I’m Pavel Vasily. Have we met?” 

I did not think I had, though his name sounded familiar. “Perhaps at another ball,” I told him, deliberately pitching my voice strangely, though it was still passably high with adolescence, and touching my own mask discreetly to be sure it was still in place. 

“Would you care to dance, Pavel?” I asked him. Far too brazen for a lady, but he just laughed and reached for my hand. 

“Certainly,” he smiled, settling a hand on my back and guiding me out onto the floor. “But you have me at a disadvantage – won’t you tell me your name?” 

“Marie.” The first name that came to my tongue. 

“Marie,” he breathed, mouth near my ear as we circled slowly to the music. “Simple name for such an intriguing woman.” 

We danced in silence for a moment, as I searched for a response. “Tell me about yourself, Pavel.” 

He twirled me neatly, catching me back close to him as I spun into his arms again. “I’m an officer of the Guard. I’m going on tour in a few weeks.”

“How exciting,” I said, with as much sincerity as I could, repeating something I head heard women say to officers a hundred times. 

“Sometimes. It does get rather lonely.” 

“Does it?” 

“Hmm. Nothing but the Russian winter for company.” 

I tipped my head back so I could look at him sideways. “Then I suppose you have to make warm memories while you can.” 

“Good wine and good company?” 

“Precisely,” I murmured. We were dancing close together, only the bulk of my skirts dictating distance between us. His hand was hot against the small of my back, pressing me against him – he smelled of expensive cologne, and his shoulders were broad. I found my eyes drawn to the arch of his throat and jut of his Adam’s apple, the tender skin under his ear, and the prickles of fair beard just growing out along his jaw. My heart was pounding, breath shallow, but I was not frightened. The danger was all the more thrilling. Feeling his hand move on the artificial curve of my waist made me shiver. 

The song ended, a cessation of noise I hardly heard, and we twirled to a halt, still standing close. Pavel leaned in again to speak in my ear. “A few other officers and I are going for drinks at the Bear – would you care to join us?” And oh what a rush that was, heady and intoxicating. 

I glanced around. My brother was nowhere to be seen. “I would love to.” 

“Wonderful,” he grinned, “Then let us go.” Offering me his arm, he tucked my hand into the crook of his elbow and led me across the floor. 

At the door a footman fetched his jacket and my sable cloak, and I looked around warily again for Nicholas, spotting him against the far wall, pressed up against some woman, and looking very distracted. And then Pavel’s arm was around me, surprising me a little, and the January night hit my face, shocking and exhilarating. 

We took a carriage to the Bear and Boar, and when we arrived Pavel actually swept me up and lifted me down – to my credit I only stumbled a little on the icy cobbles. The Bear and Boar was a cross between an expensive restaurant and an exclusive saloon. As far as I knew, Pavel was not nearly important enough to walk right in, like we did, and head straight to the private room at the back. I wondered vaguely, as I took in the gilded pillars and heavy velvet drapes, which of his friends was wealthy enough to be a member. 

There were four people in the private room when Pavel guided me through the door- three men and a woman. The room was luxurious, fat couches, a sleek darkwood table, low lamps, and mirrors on all the walls. Two of the men were in uniform, and my heart was suddenly beating faster because I recognized the third. It was Dmitri Pavlovich, Grand Duke Paul’s son. The last time I saw him had been at a state dinner in Moika Palace, across the table from me, and two seats down from his cousin, the young Tsar Nicholas. And he would recognize me as easily as I had him. After all, we had grown up together – he and I of an age and both of ancient noble families, playing together when our older siblings and cousins left us behind. 

I couldn’t imagine the scandal if he caught me. 

Actually I could, and it involved words like _exile_ or even _disownment._

But as my initial panic subsided, my senses were sharp with excitement, coiling in my stomach – here was the perfect challenge, the perfect game. Could I fool someone whom I actually knew?

Before I could think further Pavel was pulling me down beside him on one of the fat couches, and introduced me to one of the other officers. As a woman I wasn’t expected to contribute much, just to lean into Pavel’s side while he talked to his friend. It felt good to press against the warmth of his side, and when he offered me a glass of champagne, I took it gratefully and downed it quicker than I should have. 

He eventually remembered he was wearing his mask, and pulled it off laughing. “Aren’t you going to show us your face?” he asked me. 

“That would spoil the fun,” I managed, forcing myself not to tense.

“Come on,” he cajoled, “You’re beautiful. I want to see you.” 

Shaking my head I touched the mask lightly. 

“Oh please, what could possibly – ” 

I kissed him. 

One of his friends whistled, but Pavel seemed content to pull him into his lap and wrap his arms around my waist. His mouth was warm and tasted of champagne, and his hands on my back were large and strong. The back of my neck tingled, and I pulled away from Pavel, glancing over my shoulder as he kissed down my neck. 

Dmitri was watching me from over his glass, a faint frown on his face. Then Pavel bit the hollow of my throat and I yelped, distracted, and squirmed in his lap, grinding down, trying to find friction. The layers of my petticoats were thick and heavy enough to conceal my erection from all but the closest contact. When Pavel’s lips found mine again I panted into his mouth, clinging to his broad shoulders, something about the vague knowledge of Dmitri watching making the bright edge of arousal sharper. 

I didn’t register the fingers scrabbling at the back of my head until I realized that Pavel had both his hands clenched around my bottom, and by that time it was too late. My mask was slipping off as I sat up in horror, breaking the kiss, seeing Pavel blink at me, confused, and then I was turning to see my mask dangling from Dmitri Alexandrovich’s hand. 

Panic jolted me into action and I leapt to my feet, snatching a bottle of champagne from the table and hurling it at one of the mirrors on the wall. There was a spectacular smash, and a general cry of shock and confusion, but I was already hurtling out of the room, past the startled waiters and puzzled doorman, out into the icy Russian night. 

The street was deserted – it was very late – not a coach or carriage in sight, but I set off at a dead run. 

I skidded around a corner into Bakunina Square, dashing across it, stumbling in my heeled shoes, legs tangling in the heavy skirts as I tried to lengthen my stride. The freezing air burned in my lungs. Someone shouted behind me, and I had a brief, hysterical thought of leaving a shoe for my pursuing prince. 

Then I heard the clopping of hooves, and waved frantically at the approaching carriage. As it slowed beside me, I launched myself into it, tripping myself on my dress and ending up sprawled on the filthy floor of the coach. “Go, go!” I shouted. “Take me to Lord Alexandrovich’s!” The poor man, startled, whipped his horses, and the voice of the man behind me disappeared under the sound of their hoof beats and the whistle of the wind. 

Sitting up, I touched my wig, and looked down at my gown. It was wet with snow and mud, my hands were grazed, shoes absolutely ruined. Then I realized that I was freezing, my sweat drying icy on my neck and bare shoulders. 

I had left mother’s sable cloak on the couch beside Pavel. 

By the time we reached Lord Alexandrovich’s palace, I was shivering violently. As I jumped down from the coach, wobbling slightly, I realized I had no money, but I was still shaking from my close escape and too grateful to my rescuer to short him the pay. Instead I pulled the pearl necklace off and handed it too him, not waiting for his noise of surprise as I stumbled up the steps and past the doorman. 

I had never been so relieved in my life to see my brother, waiting where we had agreed, every line of his body tense with impatience and worry. “Where the hell have you been?” he shouted the moment he spotted me. “Didn’t I tell you and tell you to stay nearby? I thought someone had kidnapped you, found you out, that you were, were being beaten in some alley for a sodomite! You had goddamn better have a good excuse or I’ll…” 

Then I got close enough for him to see clearly, and his voice trailed off, the flush of rage draining from his face. “Are you alright?” 

I ran a hand over my face, smearing my makeup. I was shaking. “Let’s go home Nicky.”

The next morning I slept late, exhausted, and when I woke there was a package on the foot of my bed. It was soft, and wrapped in paper which crinkled when I squeezed it. Ripping it open, I found my mother’s sable cloak spilling out over the bed. 

As I held it up in shock, a note fluttered out, and I snatched it up. It said, 

_Dearest Felix –  
I hope you are well. This is a beautiful cloak. You should take better care.  
Your friend, D.  
_

**Author's Note:**

> I CANNOT MAKE THIS STUFF UP. Seriously. Check out Felix's biography, which has been published online since his death.  
> There were rumors during their lives that Dmitri and Felix were lovers...


End file.
